The Labyrinth
by AverageJack
Summary: When Captain Robert Mitchell thought things could get no worse, it does. Has his unit been wiped out? And what will "The Incubus" hold for Mitchell...the things nightmares are made of...
1. Chapter 1

Lying on the floor of the "Weaver" medium range interceptor, Captain Robert Mitchell had all but lost the will to live. His hands were tied behind his back and his head was knocking against the floor as the ship fought against the gravity field of Vesta-Prime. In less than an hour, he had not only failed in his primary and secondary objectives in the first mission assigned to him as the leader of Task Force 7, the latest addition to the Special Forces' Rapid Reaction force known only as the Black Diamonds, he had also lost his entire crew...his friends...his only family.

"That's right Captain" he could hear Vritra's voice from behind him.

"You'll never forget the day you crossed paths with Commandant Seth Vritra – Master and Commander of the legendary Demons!"

Mitchell could not care less. The rumblings of a psychotic warmonger did nothing to him...he had lost the capacity to be enraged or intimidated. He could only think of the men that he had failed...he could only care for that loss...

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"Is it over" the voice asked in complete darkness.

"Can anyone hear me?"

There was no answer. Sergeant Ventura was certain the blast had killed all of his soldiers. Laying on the floor of the entrance to sub-level nine, he was sure that the events of the past five minutes had left him alone, more than thirty meters below the ground with nothing or nobody to come to his aid. Surely the rock that had fallen from the roof, the equipment clanging to the floor and the fire that had raged just seconds ago was enough to kill everyone he was with. Or was it?

"I'm over here boss" he could hear Zander's voice.

"Zander, is that you" he asked the redundant question, just wanting to make sure he was not hallucinating.

"I'll get my light as soon as this little faggot Goliath driver gets his feet off my lap", he said again obviously annoyed.

"Hang on..." another voice said. It sounded like it was Psycho. Ventura had heard about the love-hate...well mostly hate-hate relationship the two had for each other.

"I swear", Psycho continued, "Being trapped in an experimental science facility with military reject material like you..." Ventura could tell he was obviously referring to Zander, "...must be the worst experience of my life...and that includes the time that very muscular drop-ship pilot kissed me..."

A light flickered to life as Zander ignited his lighter. In the dim orange hue, Ventura could see all the men that ran for sub-level nine had made it; Saunders and his two firebats, two Goliath drivers and five marines plus Ventura made a full house.

It was just a pity that amongst all of them there was only two Gauss pistols and three light machine guns. All the Impalers, flame-throwers and armour was dumped before the race for safety started.

"Like I said..." Saunders added, "...chicken shit outfit..."

To Ventura it felt as if he was home for Christmas. He had to keep himself from laughing out loud at the joy of everyone having survived the ordeal.

"Ok, shut up ladies...we need to take stock and then find a way to make it topside. If the Asshole-Squad has the Captain, we need to get to him A.S.A.P."

Having said his piece, Ventura knew it would be much easier said than done. With Saunders having freed them earlier, his group had headed over to assist Captain Mitchell and his men. Saunders had been pointing the way - having heard all the commotion. Getting there, they had been just in time to open the door to the rest of Seven-One before seeing a remote controlled detonator rigged to a substantial amount of explosives.

Knowing that the Demons would detonate it sooner rather than later and that the lift shafts were out of order, Ventura had ordered his men to abseil down the vent shaft and enter the newly discovered sub-level nine. It had been the only option they had time for and as fortune would have it, it saved their lives.

Only, now they were more than a hundred meters underground with thousands of metric tons of rock above them and no idea how to get out.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Drop-ship pilot Briggs looked around the wreck that had been his ship. Electric fires had started in numerous locations, fuel was leaking out of the wings and the two men that had accompanied him on his last flight were out cold.

Being closest to the Ghost, Briggs leaned over, placing his index finger to the man's neck. There was a strong pulse. Seeing no visible signs of injury or harm, Briggs moved over to his long time friend and co-pilot, 2nd Lieutenant Sage. Briggs did not have to check for a pulse. The co-pilot's neck hung to one side at an unnatural angle. Also his eyes were open staring into a distance – a glazed stare...the stare of a dead man.

Briggs did not have time to swallow back tears – he had two lives to save; that of himself and the Ghost. Speeding back to Spengler, Briggs pulled him up and threw him over his shoulder. Making it out the inverted cargo door was easier than he had anticipated and soon the duo was far enough from the ship, to not have to worry about an impending blast.

Laying the unconscious man down, Briggs checked again for any injuries. The only thing he could find was what appeared as a knock against the side of his head. Without any medical assistance, Briggs could do little more. Unhooking the radio from Spengler's body, Briggs hoped the Weaver had not paid a visit to his airborne friends that were circling in Thor's passage.

"Stork-Two, Stork-Thee, this is Cool Hand, do you read me" he said waiting anxiously.

"Stork-Two, Stork-Thee, this is Cool Hand, do you read me" he repeated himself.

"Cool Hand this is Three – read you load and clear..."

Briggs let out a sigh of relief.

"I've been shot down...I'm activating my homing beacon now...pick-up at shown coordinates", Briggs said as he activated the homing device from his survival kit, knowing the coordinates of his position would immediately be displayed on the two remaining drop-ship displays.

"Good", he heard from below him.

"Once they're here we can go get Mitchell."

Looking down, Briggs was surprised to see that Lieutenant Spengler was conscious

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Having tried to activate the back-up power of the facility, Ventura was somewhat dismayed that nothing seemed to respond. The explosion must have destroyed all the back-up systems, he thought to himself.

Fortunately, after groping in the dark for more than an hour, a drum of vespene gas was found and using a couple of femur bones and old lab coats scavenged from a decayed corpse, his rag-tag group of survivors were able to ignite some home-made flares.

As light played over their surroundings, the men were not much surprised by what they saw at first. Standard consoles, genetic models composed of plastic balls and metal pins, mathematic formulas scribbled on erasable white-boards...but then, having travelled deeper into sub-level nine, they found something that seemed quite unique.

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The asteroid was roughly one quarter the size of Earth's moon. It was travelling on a path that unlike ordinary asteroids, were carefully controlled. As a matter of fact, except for its appearance, it was nothing like any other piece of rock flying through space. To the ones inhabiting it, it was known as "The Incubus".

"The party is inbound, my Supreme", the recently appointed Subordinate said.

Looking up at the large rock throne that towered in front of him, the Subordinate was again more intimidated by the person sitting on the throne than by the gothic architecture in the large hall that reminded him of a 'dark-ages' dungeon.

The solid rock ceiling was high enough to be out of the reach of the lights mounted on the walls – lights that seemed to be losing their battle against the imposing darkness.

"You are excused" the Supreme said to the Subordinate, his deep resonating voice almost seeming calm for a moment...almost pleasant. As he left, the Subordinate cast a quick glance at his Supreme, wanting to see the eyes of the master of the Incubus, wanting to see if the rumours were true. The Subordinate wanted to see what the eyes of the man looked like that had personally killed his predecessor just two days ago.

Catching the sight of the Great Supreme, formerly known as Cyrus Decimus Vritra, the Subordinate left the hall, processing what he had seen as he walked.

A shiver ran up his spine as he recalled the cold lifeless eyes that flickered with intelligence. Set deeply into the eye sockets of a face that was covered by pale-grey skin, the Great Supreme almost seemed unreal, like the walking dead.

The pale skin covered his entire hairless body, the large muscular frame only clothed with one toga around his waist and sandals that reminiscent of those worn by ancient Romans. His left hand was the other thing that caught the Subordinate's eye – it was the much speculated about mechanical hand. Even though modern technology could replace any limb with a life-like counterfeit, the Great Supreme chose the theatrical metal hand. It looked like the metal 'gloves' worn by knights in days gone by, and it was the Great Supreme's weapon of choice when executing somebody personally. It would be used to crush the person's skull...It was said that at times he could be seen smiling as he executed someone.

This reinforced the theory that he was not only a genius, but also psychopath and explained why he was obeyed without question. Not only by the men in the Incubus, but also by his brother who led the military wing.

He could understand where all the names had come from that the men called the Great Supreme – Dark Knight...Death-Monger...Sudden-Death...and to some, the ones he suspected were really afraid, The Great Hope.

"Subordinate..." the deep voice called out again as he was about to disappear out the main door. The word was as a cold fear gripping the Subordinate's heart. Had the Supreme seen his glance? Did the Supreme see it as some sort of misconduct?

"Yes master" the Subordinate asked as he stopped and turned.

"Please put my music on...I would like to listen to Mozart..."

The Subordinate turned and left, this time walking a bit faster. He realized he would have to be more careful if he was hoping for a better future than his predecessor.

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"Time is of the essence", Spengler said.

"We don't have time to launch a rescue mission for possible survivors in the mine" he continued.

"If anybody is alive down there it would take days to get them out...if you have the proper equipment. We need to get Captain Mitchell back first – with that we stand a chance."

The five pilots around him seemed to agree.

"But how do we follow them", one of the pilots called Tapper asked – a keen young pilot with blonde hair and the greenest eyes Spengler had ever seen.

"I spotted the craft they used when coming in the first time. It's a small stealth ship that is parked a short distance off Thor's passage..."

"You know that thing will be rigged to blow" Briggs interrupted him. "It's standard practise for these contractors; if they leave any hardware behind...It usually works with a proximity detonator. As soon as the owners leave the theatre, the ship picks up that it's been left behind and blows up."

"Ok" Spengler countered, "But we don't need the ship itself. If we can check the navigation computer, we can hopefully trace them to their base..."

"So you're proposing that we slip into the ship that can blow any second, check the nav system, and follow them when backup gets here?"

"No" Spengler said. "I suggest that we get the heading, and follow them with the drop-ships."

The five pilots started laughing as one.

"Drop-Ships don't have the legs for an inter-planetary jump...much less if these guys are out of this system...it could take days" Briggs said feigning a smile.

"Ok, fine" Spengler relented. "What's the update on our back-up?"

Briggs turned to Tapper who had been in contact with the base moments earlier.

"Four hours and five minutes" Tapper said.

"Unacceptable" Spengler blurted out, as he started to tune his frequency to talk to the base directly.

Turning around Briggs rolled his eyes. It always seemed that the Ghosts though they could walk on water...was it arrogance or...

"This is Specialist Spengler, Task Force Seven; how's our backup coming?"

The reply came through Spengler's earpiece and the rest of the men could not hear the other end of the conversation.

"Put me through to Colonel Burke...now!"

The men stood in silence as Spengler waited for Burke to come on.

"Yes Colonel" Spengler said and started relaying the events that had happened in the preceding half hour followed by his proposed plan.

Briggs turned to his men, having decided to use the time productively.

"Ok, whatever happens, we've got to be sure that our birds are ready to go – check all your systems, make sure that everything checks out."

The men dispersed and commenced with a visual inspection on the two remaining drop-ships. The conversation between Burke and Spengler was still going. It seemed that they were discussing a new plan.

"Affirmative sir, we'll recover it now. We'll check in for our instructions when we get it."

Spengler turned to Briggs.

"New plan" he started. "The Colonel agrees that four hours is too long, so here's what we do; we see if we can grab the nav computer from the ship, we take a drop-ship and head for Douleur – it's a small planet in this system with a terran penal colony on it. Apparently it's maximum security, so the assholes they have there is pretty much the worst kind. Anyway, Burke says they have a long-range transporter there we can use to follow Mitchell and the sphere..."

"Wow" Briggs said losing his temper. "What a great plan... we'll send five pilots and an over confident spook after the guys who had just torn us a new one...why didn't I think of that."

Spengler remained calm.

"Well, actually the ship is not the only thing Burke will arrange with the colony..."

A flicker of hope appeared on Brigg's face.

"Ok..." he said intrigued. "So they've got a force on Douleur..."

Briggs' sentence died down. He knew the prison guards weren't up for the task...and no regular army outfit ever went to a penal colony...

"That's right" Spengler started. "Burke is going to cut a deal with an elect few – inmates that might have the skills required – they do this, they get their sentence reduced or be released for all I know..." With that he started walking past Briggs, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Now we gotta get the nav system from their ship without getting our heads blown off...I'm feeling downright positive..."

Briggs was left standing, his mouth literally hanging open.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Special Research – Authorised Personnel Only" Psycho read the sign above the door.

"Let's check it out" Ventura said. "If we're gonna get out of here, we'd better find any and all options available to us...but be careful. We don't know if the zombies are lurking down here as well."

Psycho stepped forward, his lean frame still wielding the small machine gun. With Ventura and Zander carrying the remaining two pistols, he felt sorry for the four marines and two firebats that had no way of defending themselves.

The dark room he entered was larger than the ones they had passed through. Various cable ducts and power skirting ran into the room indicated that it had special power requirements. As light from the torches flickered inside, it became clear what all the power was used for.

Large glass cylinders containing humanoid shapes suspended in a water-like solution lined the room. Various wires and measuring instruments were connected to the cylinders and hooked up to computers.

Walking further into the room with his gun held at the ready, Psycho counted eight cylinders. At closer inspection, six were empty. The one closest to the entrance was not. The one next to it was broken.

"Son-offa-bitch", Ventura said as he observed the scene.

"This is some high-end shit," he continued still wondering what the hell the military was up to. A number of issues perplexed him. Why the massive cover up? What the hell was the Osiris-sphere exactly? And if the military knew that it was there even after Persephony fell to the invested Terrans, why didn't they go back immediately.

"Sir, check this out," Zander said from one of the work spaces that lined the walls. As Ventura stepped over he took the printout that Zander was offering:

-Project Name: Revival

-Certificate reference: F-2274-PL45-34XC

-Subject: Infested Ghost Operator

-Name: n/a

-Rank: n/a

-Effect of treatment: Completely dissimilar to that of regular troops. Certain mental and physical attributes heavily altered – in some cases possibly augmented. Extent of changes as yet unknown.

-Recommendation: Full project status required to investigate. Military applications of altered subject - strong possibility. Input from faculty of Ghost Research essential. Improved safety modules vital for further study.

Ventura lowered the printout. Considering what had happened since arriving and what he had just read, he was starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland, having gone down the rabbit hole...

"Look at this," Zander said as he handed him another page.

-Project Name :Revival

-Certificate reference: R-2274-PL45-34XC

-Recommendation: Accepted – as per verbal communiqué. Await detailed report. Safety modules, expert personnel and additional equipment en route.

- New Project Name: Spectre

From the certificate reference, Ventura could tell the first one was a message 'Forwarded' to whatever base the scientists reported to. The second was the 'Reply'.

Not being a scientist himself, he did not understand the full extent of what was said, but one thing that was clear was that the guys working in the bowels of Persephony were getting in over their heads, and by the looks of things, it was shortly before the base was lost.

Wham-wham-wham!

The smoking barrel belonged to Merlin.

Ventura dropped the red page. It fell to the ground, landed on its side and fell over.

"Shit...there was movement" Merlin said still pointing his gun to the furthest corner of the room.

"I swear something stood there looking at us and disappeared through the door when I lifted my gun."

That was strange, Ventura thought. He could not remember a door on the other side of the room. Merlin was biting his lower lip and blinked to clear sweat that had seeped into his eyes. He was obviously nervous. Ventura could not blame him. Walking around in a top secret science facility with unknown threats and apparently undercover-experiments-gone-wrong was enough to make anyone a bit jumpy.

"Ok, everyone calm down" Ventura said, trying to heed his own advice.

"We probably have a few IT's down here. Merlin, Psycho – hand your weapons to the marines closest to you..."

Merlin and Psycho stared at Ventura as if he was speaking some unknown language.

"Give it to them, or follow me to hunt down that IT", he said nodding at the far door.

With the weapons in hand, the marines prepared to follow Ventura.

"Saunders, you stay here with the rest of them – and keep your gun ready for action. We'll clear the floor and when we get back we can look for a way out."

The group of men without weapons stood in the middle of the room with sheepish expressions on their faces. Saunders stood behind them. He reminded Ventura of a sheepdog, watching his flock.

With that Ventura and his three marines headed for the door in the back. Stepping through the door, Ventura thought about Alice in Wonderland again..."here we go, deeper into the rabbit hole.." he whispered to himself.

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The navigation computer was housed in the console between the pilot's seats. Spengler was glad they had made it that far. There had been speculation that a possible switch mechanism linked the cargo door to the self destruct mechanism, and so with the help of Briggs the emergency exit had to be blown out to gain entrance. The main door had been locked anyway.

The control panel of the ship had one blinking red light in the upper right corner.

"That's it" Briggs said from behind.

"It's definitely rigged – it could go any second..."

"Then I propose we move fast", Spengler countered.

"What do I do", he asked, trying to calm Briggs with the even tone of his voice.

"There", Briggs responded pointing to the panel.

"You'll find that the cover flips open", he continued as Spengler followed his instructions.

"Now loosen the four screws at the corners."

As Spengler continued to loosen the screws, Briggs' eyes returned to the blinking light, knowing that an explosion could replace any one of the blinks.

"Hurry" he said to Spengler, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Ok, now lift the panel...that's it. Cut the black and white wires...ok. Now be careful not to cut the blue one...it's got a special little adapter that it's connected to the avionics' CPU. We need that, so you have to reach in and unplug it."

Spengler reached into the console, his face contorting as he struggled to reach it.

"Shit", Briggs breathed. "I think the light just started blinking faster...I think the detonation sequence might have been activated..."

Spengler didn't waste time to look up. His attention was completely focused. He could feel the adapter...his fingers closed around it and he gently pulled...but it was stuck. He tried pulling slightly harder.

"Be careful not to break it", Briggs reminded him. "If the adaptor is broken we can forget about retrieving the info..."

Spengler was straining...he could feel the sharp edges of the adapter eating into his fingers...he had no choice...he squeezed harder...

Crack.

Lifting the small device that resembled a circuit board from the console, Spengler could feel his heart sink. He was convinced that the adaptor had broken...nothing cracks without breaking.

Lifting it clear, Briggs leaned over taking a look.

"Son-of-a-bitch...it didn't break..." he breathed relieved.

"Go-go-go" Spengler said scrambling to his feet.

Clearing the ship in record time, the two men sprinted for safety. Sliding in behind the cover of a rock outcrop where the rest of the group waited, the two men breathed a sigh of relief.

"We got it."

Ten minutes later the ship exploded in a large orange fireball.

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Leading the team of four, Ventura moved quietly, focused and determined. He had enough on his mind getting himself and his crew rescued. Having to deal with a bunch of zombies was not what he needed right now.

The door they had entered through took them through a narrow passageway and as they continued he could now see that it opened into a large room up ahead. Passing through the door' he signalled his men to fan out.

The four marines arched out in formation, their eyes searching for targets over the sights of their guns. Ventura signalled the men to stop. As one the four marines crouched down, their weapons still at the ready.

The room they found themselves in were dimly lit, but Ventura could not see where the source of light was. The walls were not of concrete, but rugged rock.

"We're in a cave", Ventura whispered surprised. The mystery seemed to deepen. It felt as if he was in a bad dream.

Something scurried in the shadows. The four marines aimed their weapons simultaneously but nobody fired.

"Anyone see what that was," Ventura asked.

"I couldn't see what it was, but I'm damned sure it ain no IT...it's short and moves fast," Zander said.

In the darkness of the far corner, something scurried, but still no target.

"Move forward on my signal, fire in short controlled bursts," Ventura said getting up.

The four marines stepped forward cautiously.

Before taking his second step, all guns started firing.

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"Ok Captain," Spengler said looking at Briggs. "Since the boys we're picking up on Douleur will be doing most of the fighting under my command, I suggest that only two of you flyboys come along to pilot the drop-ship there. The rest can stay here to coordinate the rescue mission for the guys down bellow."

"I agree," Briggs said easily. "I already asked Tapper to co-pilot with me and we're finished downloading the coordinates...we can go when you're ready."

"Let's go," Spengler said.

Having closed and bandaged the bullet hole in his leg, he had checked his weapons and stealth-suit and was ready to go.

Tapper was already strapped-in in the co-pilot seat with his helmet on, completing his pre-flight check list. Briggs slid in next to him.

"All systems; five by five" Tapper said.

The ship was ready for take-off. Flicking the switch to close the cargo door, Cool Hand looked back at his lone passenger.

"Strap yourself in Lieutenant – next stop; Douleur."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Captain Robert Mitchell, commander of Task Force Seven of the Black Diamond special forces group of the terran army, was forced to his knees, his hands bound behind his back. Coming in, he had managed to see the large throne and a dark lone figure sitting on it before his head was pushed down so as to 'bow' before the person in front of him.

In the background he could hear Mozart's fifth playing. He wasn't sure if it was real, or if he had been knocked on the head one too many times.

Commandant Seth Vritra spoke from behind him.

"With my compliments, big brother...the stone is with the scientists now. They have placed it in safe containment."

"Good", the low voice said. "I wouldn't want that little rock to harm my humble home before we get to dispose of it."

Turning his attention to Mitchell he continued.

"And what have we here...it's not even my birthday and you're bearing gifts little brother..."

"It's the commander of the Black Diamond task force we encountered", Seth answered. "We humiliated them..."

"Next time, little brother" the Supreme interrupted, "when you decide to humiliate somebody, please don't lose a full Demon squad in doing so...training your monkeys is expensive...and as you know, failure comes at a cost..."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between the siblings.

"Not the matter", the Supreme said again. "With the stone we shall recuperate the loss and much more. In the mean time I suggest we celebrate. I'm in a good mood and I feel like entertainment."

Still looking down, Mitchell could sense the conversation was turning to him.

"I say we let our little rat loose in the Labyrinth. Let's see how clever the Black Diamond commander really is. After all, he did manage to kill Commander Aeron and his men...and almost you, little brother."

"You see Captain" the Supreme continued, "when we found this desolate rock, traces of an ancient civilization that had inhabited it was evident. We found hieroglyphs on the walls, massive tunnel systems, but the most profound, the one thing we did not change, was the Labyrinth. A very clever little game they have in the belly of this beast. My scientists tell me they suspect it was a system the ancients used to select their leader amongst three candidates. The only problem is that in the last fifteen years, we've not been able to find one candidate capable of completing it...it's a somewhat challenging encounter...the Labyrinth has a way of killing you if you don't finish...Now I know my little brother would rather like to torture you – exact his pleasure that way, but personally I enjoy a good challenge better. And any, the ways that you die in the Labyrinth isn't exactly what I would label an easy death..."

Mitchell looked up into the eyes of the Great Supreme. What he saw was the eyes of a madman. What worried him most, was that mad men are usually the best at killing.

"To the Labyrinth", the Great Supreme said smiling, his eyes never losing contact with Mitchells.

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From afar, the small planet looked brown and miserable. Standing between the two pilots, looking down at it, it reminded Spengler of Vesta Prime. He only hoped it held better things for Task Force Seven than VP did.

"They said we're picking up fifty guys", Spengler said. "That's all they have weapons for."

"What exactly do you plan to do with fifty guys against hundreds upon hundreds of the Asshole-squad", Cool Hand asked, his concerns shared by his two companions.

"The best chance we have, is if they create a diversion and I infiltrate from a second point", Spengler answered. "Still, it's going to be a long shot."

"Then you get the Captain and the stone?"

"Well, sort of...Burke was clear that my primary objective was to get the stone and if possible also the Captain...let's just say I don't share that sentiment and I don't think it's likely to do both...so my objective is to get Mitchell, and whatever's extra is extra..."

Spengler knew the guys he was with felt exactly the same way he did. He had realized early on that he had to be careful; now and again you would get an over-ambitious shit that did everything the military asked of him, even to the point of betraying his own men...such a person would not hesitate to instigate a court-martial against someone like Spengler for what he had just said, but he knew nobody like that were with him in the drop ship.

"Here we go", Tapper said as he initiated the entry sequence.

Spengler sat down and strapped himself in. Again the drop shook, as it had a short while before when landing on Vesta-Prime.

"Douleur, this is Stork-Two of the Black Diamonds; permission to land..."

The response could not be heard, but within minutes Stork-Two blew landing pad four clean of the sand that had accumulated over it over the preceding months. As its engines wound down, the cargo door lowered down, and Spengler stepped out toward the man that was waiting on the platform.

"Lieutenant, I am vice-warden Van Der Velder" the man said.

Spengler extended his hand, subconsciously evaluating the warden.

Van Der Velder was a skinny man with a pale skin and a hooked nose. His black hair was plastered to his scalp, oily from not having been washed in a long time. The dark brown cloak he wore ended inches off the ground and was worn for dramatic purpose, since the temperature was similar to Vesta-Prime's.

Catching a whiff of the man's breath, Spengler could tell it was the kind that no amount of toothpaste could cure.

"We're so honoured to have..." Van Der Velder continued before Spengler cut him off.

"Vice-Warden, we're on a tight schedule...if you could take me to the warden I would much appreciate it."

"Well you see, I'm in charge of this facility...the warden was killed a month ago. There was a riot; some men broke free and before we could stop them they had made their way to the administration block..."

"I thought all prisoners in a c-max facility were implanted with an inhibitor chip" Spengler asked referring to the chip implanted at the base of the skull against the spine.

"Yes but these gentlemen were particularly determined", Van Der Velder explained. "They had cut the chip out with a homemade scalpel...most unpleasant affair."

"What was their beef with the warden" Spengler asked, momentarily intrigued by the personalities he would be baby-sitting for the following hours.

"They were angry because the warden had sentenced them to three months in solitary. It seems when they came out, their minds had succumbed under the pressure of solitude...but the warden really had no choice, after they had killed two of their inmates in a card-game..."

"Where are these characters now", Spengler enquired, afraid of the response that would follow.

"You'll meet them in a moment Lieutenant. The three are part of the fifty that had been assigned to you."

As Cool Hand and Tapper approached, Van Der Velder led the way into the facility.

"Hold on to you wallets", Spengler whispered to the pilots.

After a short walk the three men entered a large, dimly lit hall. Spengler guessed it was the cafeteria. In front of them, a group of fifty men were waiting.

"You've been assigned with fifty of the one-hundred-and-eighty-three prisoners with a life sentence. The military had decided they were the only ones with enough 'motivation' if you will, to risk their lives on this mission", Van Der Velder said softly.

"What did the military offer them in return", Spengler asked.

"Acquittal; if they succeed - no questions asked..."

Standing in front of the group, Spengler took a moment to evaluate his challenge. The fifty men were obviously the worst kind he had ever seen. The first thing that struck him, was their physiques. He would have guessed c-max prisoners with a life sentence would be skinny and malnourished. The fifty men he was looking at, obviously spent their time pumping iron. Another obvious feature was that everyone had their heads shaved bald – standard prison practise.

Their bodies were littered with a variety of tattoos; spider web on the elbow, black tears down the cheek, there was even a big guy with a tribal motif covering half of his body. Spengler could feel their eyes wandering over his body.

"Ok", he spoke up. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am", the response came with a man stepping forward. One of his eyes were almost completely white, and blind if Spengler had to guess. He was one of the few men that were slightly shorter than Spengler and the only one with a small clump of hair tied in a ball on the back of his scalp.

"You can call me Pinball..." the guy said smiling back at his crew, "...on account of my magic eye."

"What kind of experience has your crew got", Spengler asked, looking directly into Pinball's 'magic' eye.

"We have thirty-three ex-marines, fifteen ex-firebats and two boys from the mechanised units", Pinball concluded. "All veterans baby..."

"Colonel Burke said you can arm fifty men..." Spengler said looking at Van Der Velder.

"What have you got?"

"As a primary weapons, we have forty 'Thumpers' and ten 'Farts'...and as secondary weapons...well there aren't any secondary weapons."

Looking at the crate of weapons Van Der Velder had carted in, Spengler recognised the two types of guns he had mentioned. The T-3 or 'Thumper' was a heavy semi-automatic shot-gun type weapon. Its barrel was short and thick, the opening roughly the size of a tennis ball. Four inches from the tip there was a grip for the user's left hand and behind it a drum-like magazine that took the fat shells, much like a six-shooter on steroids. With a shell the size of a Coke-can, the weapon packed a mean punch.

It had no stalk and was ideal for close quarter combat.

It could fire either solid amalgamated metal rounds (that could punch through light armour), steel pellets the size of a marbles, or rubber rounds for crowd control. Mostly used in penal facilities for crown control, it had been scrapped from the terran inventory two years ago, due to the high rate of fatalities the rubber rounds had caused.

The FRT-63 or 'Fart' as commonly called, was a light assault rifle. The good thing was that it was not as heavy as an 'Impaler' and was therefore easier to handle without mechanised armour. It would also lend some extra range to the 'Thumpers'. In all other regards however, it was inferior to the standard issued marine 'Impaler'.

Van Der Velder continued; "We further have body armour, combat boots and a few high-explosive grenades...that's about it."

It's not great, Spengler thought to himself, but I'll take it.

"Ok" he said looking at Pinball. "There's just one rule; you do what I say, or I kill you myself..."

Pinball's eyes looked straight into his. Spengler could see the wheels were turning in Pinball's head, considering whether he should contest the Ghosts authority or submit. He was sure that the inmates were fully aware of a Ghost's abilities, and appreciated the fact that they were well versed in the art of killing.

"Yeah", Pinball said. "We follow your lead..."

"Right" Spengler said not showing his relief. "Grab your kit and be ready to lift off in ten minutes." He was happy with how that had gone down. He didn't need another obstacle to complicate matters, and with Pinball submitting to his command immediately made things somewhat easier.

"Where is the transporter", Spengler asked Turning to Van Der Velder and the two pilots.

"We have it fuelled up and ready in port one. It's not the fastest or most maneuverable ship around but it should get you there. "

"We can discuss our strategy an route", Spengler said to Cool Hand.

"No problem. We'll go check out the ride. Bring your crew and meet us in the ship?"

"Sure", Spengler said turning back to the convicts in front of him.

"This is going to get very interesting", he whispered to himself.

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Ventura was certain there were multiple fast moving targets in the large underground chamber in front of them. His men had been firing controlled bursts at the moving shadows, but nothing had been hit so far.

He could sense his men were starting to get anxious. The fire died down for a second. The cavern was silent and the smell of smoke rising from the gun barrels filled his nose.

An ominous howl could be heard echoing from the depths of the cavern that stretched away in a distance. It seemed that the fast moving shadows scurried away into the dark.

"Shit man" Zander said, a slight quiver of panic audible in his voice. "This situation is seriously FUBAR'ed. I've fired multiple accurate shots and notin'."

Cracking a light stick Ventura stepped closer. The green light revealed nothing. No blood, no corpses, just rock face scarred by gunfire.

"Sergeant", Zander called from behind. "We've got a problem."

Walking back to Zander's position, it became clear what he was talking about. The body of one of the marines from the group lay on the floor. The corpse was missing its head.

From the tunnel behind them, Ventura could hear footsteps approaching. The men readied their rifles as one.

"They're all dead", Psycho said as he appeared, his eyes filled with terror.

"Merlin, Saunders...all dead!"

It was impossible, Ventura thought to himself. Impossible.

"We gotta get out of here", Psycho said close to tears.

"All their heads are gone man – gone!"

It was as if Ventura could smell the fear. It was as if it was seeping from their bodies like sweat. Whatever was lurking in these tunnels moved fast, quietly and killed without remorse. They wouldn't make it through the next hour...that was the only thing he was sure of...

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The guard had not been kind. His boot slammed into Mitchell's back moments after the blindfold had been removed. Mitchell crashed to the floor with the door slamming shut behind him.

Blinking twice he lifted his head. The wall in front of him confirmed his suspicion. An elaborate and seemingly ancient painting filled the wall he was looking at. It was an illustration of a labyrinth.

Lanterns mounted on the wall supplied enough light to see it clearly. The room had three doors; one that had shut after he was kicked through it and two on either side of the decorated wall.

Standing to his feet, he reached into his pocket.

"Please be there", whispered.

Flicking a cigarette to his mouth the lighter flared. For the first time in hours a smile played across his lips. It had been a long day and he suspected it would not be over soon.

Blowing a lung full of smoke into the air, he stepped closer to the wall. The only thing that would make sense, was if the painting on the wall was a tool to guide the wise to where he wanted to be, but where was that.

A small sun shining over the head of a stick character holding his hands up in victory decorated the very centre of the illustration. It seemed that the centre of the labyrinth was the place to be. The stick character seemed happy enough.

Taking another drag of the cigarette, Mitchell tried to figure out where he was on the map. Only one red inverted arrow on the entire illustration convinced him it indicated his position. It also had two paths leading away from it – one to the left and one to the right.

Following the first one, it crossed a symbol that reminded him of a grate and continued to another split. The second one


End file.
